Determined as he’d been to hold on to the bitterness and wrath and indignation Reverend Baker had referenced from Ephesians last Sunday, that task was becoming more difficult by the day.

Was it time to let them go and do as that passage instructed? Be kind and merciful and forgiving?

He wrapped his fingers around the edge of the sink and held on tight.

That wasn’t a place he’d ever expected to reach with Christi—but life had thrown him more than a few curves lately.

Yet if evidence of her transformation continued to mount, one of these days the temptation to kiss her would sweep over him again—perhaps too strong to resist.

And while the ramifications of such a development were a bit daunting, the pros of stepping over that line were definitely beginning to outweigh the cons.

23

Oh my.

Beth let out a slow breath, lowered Steve’s most recent letter, and surveyed the empty envelopes on the couch to her left and the box on her right containing the rest of the notes and cards he’d sent. The ones she’d spent the past hour and a half reading—and rereading—on this Saturday morning.

So many words.

So many regrets and apologies.

So much heart.

And following Charley’s counsel, she’d listened with her heart wide open as she’d read.

Conclusion? It appeared Steve had repented—and changed.

She lifted the last card again. Once more read the words she’d longed to hear through all the years she’d beseeched him to stop trying to push Jonathan into sports and instead appreciate and encourage his son’s artistic talent.

You were right all along, Beth. I put food on the table for Jonathan, but I neglected to feed his soul. While you recognized his talent early on as a special gift, for me it was a disappointment. And that was the crux of the problem. It was always about me. My selfish desires. I wanted to coach Little League. Cheer Jonathan on from the stands in whatever sport he chose. Brag to friends about his athletic abilities.

I’ll carry the shame of this profound failure to my grave—along with the grief we share over the loss of the son who added such joy to our days.

If I could change the past, I would. I’d send Jonathan to the art camp you suggested as a graduation gift instead of taking him to the Grand Canyon. I’d seek opportunities for him to develop and showcase his talent. I’d give more than lip service praise to the drawings he showed me. Art isn’t my forte, but it was important to him—and I owed him my enthusiasm and support. I should have respected him for who he was instead of trying to squeeze him into the ill-fitting mold I’d created.